


Hay Fever

by thedevianthunter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Obligatory Valentine's Day fic, allen is allergic to flowers, bless his soul, the beginning of a new relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevianthunter/pseuds/thedevianthunter
Summary: You and Captain Allen spend an interesting evening together on Valentine’s Day.





	Hay Fever

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Again,” you say with a slightly pained smile as you hand over a small vase bursting with red roses to Officer Tina Chen.

Her  _third_  one that day. 

Excessive doesn’t quite do it justice, although you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little envious.

“Do you want one of them?” she asks without a hint of malice in her voice. Tina isn’t the gloating type, and you know her well enough to tell that she’s dead serious.

You shake your head, a fond smile on your lips. “Nah. I don’t need your pity.”

“Hey, you still have the whole day to find a date! I hear Gavin’s avail—“

“Nope,” you cut her off. “Don’t even start.”

“I’m just saying you have options.”

“Gavin Reed doesn’t count as an option.” And with that firm response, you push the cart of precariously balanced Valentine presents forward.

Tina chuckles at your retreating back, silently mourning Gavin and any chances he assumes he has with you.

* * *

You don’t know how you end up in charge of passing out the mail that day—a security issue, you think it was—but somehow your name got thrown in the mix and now you’re handing out bouquets and chocolates left and right without any hope of receiving any yourself.

You don’t normally mind being single on Valentine’s Day, but then again, you don’t normally have to hand-deliver Valentines to others who are very much in love and in relationships.

A pleasant voice announces that you’ve reached the fourth floor and you step out of the elevator with a sigh, pushing the cart with slumped shoulders.

You often find yourself in the SWAT department for various reasons—mainly paperwork—so you don’t have to waste too much time asking around for names.

You’re met with satisfied grins when you unceremoniously place the presents in front of the recipients. They offer you distracted ‘thank you’s, as they rip the attached cards open and you only nod.

Halfway through your deliveries, you hear someone having a sneezing fit nearby and you wince, turning around with apologies already spewing from your lips.

It comes as a bit of a surprise to see the normally rough and tough Captain Allen sneezing away into his elbow.

You can’t help but stare.

Allen’s always come off as untouchable,  _immortal_  even, in a way. Nothing fazes him and more importantly, nothing ever slows him down.

Except his apparent pollen allergy, it seems.

When he’s done, he lifts his face from his elbow and you almost laugh at his red nose and grumpy expression. He sees your poorly-contained amusement and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Something funny?” he barks as you duck into the break room to grab him a box of tissues. Grinning, you return to him, abandoning the cart with the offending flowers, and hold out the box for him to take.

He does so with a gruff “thanks,” and something about the way he turns around and blows his nose has your chest constricting in a pleasant yet terrifying way.

Damn Allen and his gorgeous blue eyes...

You sigh a little, shaking your head.

Nope.

 _Unattainable_ , you remind yourself. He probably has a gorgeous date—if not multiple—lined up for tonight. He may not have received any Valentines, but you don’t doubt he’s the one sending them out. Allen strikes you as a secret romantic, somehow, which may or may not be due to your not-so-subtle crush on him.

Not that it matters since, you know,  _he’s not fucking interested_.

“Better stay in your office, Cap, ‘cause I have a few more to get through,” you warn him, motioning to your still-crowded cart. He eyes the bouquets of red and pink flowers distastefully before turning to you with a calculating look.

“Any of those for you?”

You scoff. “Fuck no. Nobody wants me.”

Your bluntness and self-deprecating jab render him speechless for a second. Just as you open your mouth to excuse yourself, he lets out a tired sigh.

“I do,” he admits almost angrily, scratching the back of his head as he averts your eyes, which have gone wide at his words. Your mouth drops open as you process what he’s just said, but he doesn’t give you much time to brood, quickly asking, “So dinner at seven?”

“Okay,” you reply immediately, your mouth moving on its own. There’s really no room to dwell on the fact that Captain Allen has just asked you out on Valentine’s Day because the man is already walking away, leaving you standing there in the middle of the SWAT department with an empty box of tissues loosely in your hand.

* * *

‘Dinner at seven’ turns out to be a bust, and it’s _not_ because Allen stood you up, something you fully expected him to do. 

No, it turns out that  _you’re_  not the only one with impulsive tendencies.

“They’re all fucking booked,” Allen announces with a groan as he climbs into the car. He slams the door shut a little more forcefully than intended and you reach over to rub his shoulder in consolation, flushing slightly when he turns to you and smiles.

“I thought you had this planned out,” you tease him and he snorts.

“Not this time.”

“Well,” you begin nervously, not really seeing any other choice, “we can always just ... have a quiet dinner at home?”

He blinks in surprise as if the idea’s never crossed his mind before shrugging. “Sure. Your place or mine?”

You’ve, uh, definitely  _never_  fantasized about Allen asking you that particular question. Not once. No sirree.

Licking your dry lips, you only offer him a weak smile. “Your call.”

And that’s exactly how you end up on David’s Allen couch on the eve of Valentine’s Day. You nervously flip through channels while you wait for him to emerge from the bathroom, but you’re too frazzled to really pay attention to what’s on screen. In the end, you opt for one of the cheesy romance flicks from the early 20’s while you silently meditate and try to soothe your heart.

 _It’s just dinner_ , you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that evening, hoping that would be enough to calm your nerves. It doesn’t really work because you remember that a lot can happen after dinner, especially with Allen’s bedroom only a few feet away and—

Great. Now you’re thinking about his bed.

You’re so buried in your thoughts that the sound of the door opening causes you to jump in surprise. You’re pretty sure Allen notices this because you hear him chuckle from behind you.

“You alright?” he questions, genuinely concerned. He’s mindful to give you some space on the couch, sitting on the opposite end. Truthfully, that only frustrates you because the  _last_  thing you want tonight is space.

“I’m fine,” you reply firmly, boldly scooting closer to him. He raises an eyebrow when your fingers accidentally brush his thigh, and before you can apologize, he calmly places his hand over yours and your breath hitches.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice sounds much closer this time but maybe you’re just lightheaded from all... _this_. Whatever  _this_  even is.

You shrug. You don’t know and you don’t care, not when he’s so close, close enough that you can see every faded scar on his rugged face, can count every eyelash and freckle...

You’re not sure who closes the distance—you think it’s you but you  _swear_  he shifted towards you, too—but the next thing you know, Allen’s lips are on yours and your fingers are in his hair. His arms snake around your waist, and his hands rest on your bottom before sliding to your thighs and coaxing you into his lap.

You straddle him, breaking the kiss only briefly as you change positions. When you see the smirk on his face, you huff and surge back in, capturing his lips once again.

He swipes his tongue along your bottom lip and you open your mouth to grant him access. Groaning against your lips, he languidly pushes you backwards and you find yourself staring at the ceiling as Allen crawls on top of you.

Feeling much more confident now that you’ve sampled his lips, you reach over and attempt to tug his shirt over his head.

And that’s when he pulls away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, jumping to his feet. He rubs a hand down his face while you blink up at him in confusion.

You watch as he paces the living room, all the while trying to hide the undeniable bulge in his jeans, and abruptly, the weight of your actions hits you and your face burns in shame.

“I’m so sorry, Dave,” you apologize in embarrassment as you sit up, staring anywhere except him. “I didn’t—it’s just—“

“Don’t apologize,” Allen half-laughs, half-sighs. He runs a hand through his hair when he sees your guilty expression and quickly joins you on the couch again.

“I should go,” you mutter pathetically, fully prepared to dig a hole under your bed and crawl into it for the next hundred years. Allen, however, has other ideas.

He kisses you again, gentler this time. Before you can fully lose yourself to his touch, he pulls away.

“Don’t go.”

“But you—”

“Sweetheart,” he rumbles in that gravelly voice of his that leaves you lightheaded and wanting more, “as much as I’d like to keep going, I don’t want to rush into things just yet.”

“Wh-why not?”

“I want to do things right,” he admits almost bashfully. You tilt your head, and he takes this as a sign to elaborate. “I want... I want you to take this seriously.”

“Who says I won't?” you point out, doing your best to ignore the continuous thrum of your heartbeat in your ears.

Allen looks at you almost helplessly and it hits you that even the toughest, bravest in the police force can have their moments of doubt. You smile gently at him and cup the side of his face.

“Let’s do this right then.” And with that, you take his hand and drag him to the kitchen to start preparing the Valentine’s Day dinner that he had impulsively asked you to in the midst of a sneezing fit.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy V Day or Single Awareness Day or Regular Thursday to y'all <3
> 
> also shameless plug but some [poor Allen valentines](https://thedevianthunterrk800.tumblr.com/post/182810834367/some-low-quality-captain-allen-valentines-3)


End file.
